


Five Times Sherlock Worried He Embarrassed John and One Time John Embarrassed Himself

by Goddess_of_the_Night



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Everyone Sees it Before They Do, First Kiss, Fluff, John Must Really Love Sherlock, M/M, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, Sherlock is adorable, admitting feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2015-03-19
Packaged: 2018-03-18 14:08:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3572474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goddess_of_the_Night/pseuds/Goddess_of_the_Night
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Title and tags just about say it all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mrs. Hudson

**Author's Note:**

> I love 5+1 stories but never had an idea that worked out for one...until now. I hope you enjoy my venture in to it!

It was as though a stink bomb had gone off in the apartment, and then a skunk came through and sprayed everything for good measure.

This is the situation John came home to. I had tried opening the windows to air it out, but it was no use; the smell was permeating quite thoroughly.

“Sherlock, what the hell happened this time?” John asked as he attempted to remain calm and not gag as his left hand raised to cover his mouth and nose.

“An experiment. I may have miscalculated a bit,” I explain calmly while firmly keeping my embarrassed blush concealed.

“You think?” He snarks and I roll my eyes. He walks to stand next to me but grimaces, “You smell terrible.”

“Worse than the rest of the apartment?” I ask, honestly curious.

“I mean…yeah. I think it’s settled in your pores; go take a shower and change your clothes.”

I shake my head, “The smell has invaded my room, as well, causing all of my clothes to smell.”

“Oh God, what about my room?” He looks a bit panicked at the thought.

“Yours is fine, I already checked. It seems that it was far enough away to not be effected. Plus the stairs probably helped, as well, because the scent is very dense and can’t easily rise.”

“Well that’s something, anyway,” he breathes in relief, “I’ll go grab you some of my clothes to put on after your shower, then we’ll get started on the laundry.”

“I don’t need clothes,” I protest, already imagining how ridiculous his smaller clothing would look on me.

He gives me a pointed look that he inaccurately thinks I know what it means before saying, “You are _not_ walking around naked as I help you clean this all up.”

“I don’t see why not,” I grumble.

“Of course you don’t,” he sasses, “But I’m telling you that it is absolutely not happening.”

I huff, “You’re not my mother, John.”

“Sometimes I think I should be with how childish you act half of the time.”

“Ha ha,” I mock laugh before moving towards the bathroom, “You can place the clothes in the bathroom as I shower,” I call back to him before closing the door.

I peel off my dressing gown, t-shirt, pajama bottoms, and pants sniffing each as they’re removed. I will be unable to don any of them again after washing the smell from my body. I spend a significant amount of time using and reusing a mixture of our toiletries to rid myself of the smell, practically ignoring the sounds of John entering and leaving the room at some point. Finally, after the third rinse-and-repeat process and soaping up, I deem myself de-skunked enough to try to rejoin the world.

When I see the clothes John has left me sitting on the closed toilet seat cover I cringe. He brought me a gray Army t-shirt - that isn’t all that bad, truthfully - and navy sweatpants that are just a bit too short to not be comical. There are no pants and I spend a second considering putting my old pair back on but can’t bring myself to risk the scent contaminating these clothes, as well, so forego them altogether.

I take a deep breath for courage before walking out of the bathroom to face the other man. His eyes twinkle with mirth upon seeing me but mercifully doesn’t say a word.

“Shut up,” I grumble anyway as I push past him with my smelly clothes in hand to add them to a pile in my room. He simply laughs and follows me.

We gather up my clothes, taking care to bag machine washable items together and others that will need to be taken to the dry cleaners in their own bags. We head down to the laundry room on the main floor next to Mrs. Hudson’s flat with the machine items in hand. We’re just beginning to argue about whether it is absolutely necessary to separate loads by color - I say no, and they’re my items so that should decide it - when Mrs. Hudson walks in.

“I heard shouting,” she explains.

“We’re fine, Mrs. Hudson, nothing to worry about; Sherlock just wants to ruin all of his clothes for a second time today by mixing them all together in the wash,” John glares at me and I roll my eyes at the statement.

“Oh, you really must separate them,” she readily agrees with John as though it’s an obvious answer.

John smirks at me triumphantly and I growl, “Fine,” I hiss through clenched teeth.

“Sherlock,” she starts with confusion, “Are those _John’s_ clothes you’re wearing?”

I keep my blush to a minimum, “Clearly mine are all ruined at the moment. Would you rather I were naked? Because John assured me that wasn’t an option, but I think if the two of us agreed he wouldn’t be able to stop me.”

She laughs, “Lord, no! It just reminds me of when I would steal _my_ husband’s favorite shirt.”

My heart skips a beat at the emphasis she placed on the word _my,_ once again implying that John and I are a couple, which we clearly are not. I know how much John hates when people infer it; just about as much as I hate to hear him deny it so vehemently every time like it’s a ludicrous idea. I guess it is, in a way, no matter that I can see myself finally opening up and giving myself to him as I have not had the desire to do with anyone else before.

“Mrs. Hudson,” he chides her good-naturedly with a vibrant blush.

She puts her hands up before John can finish his protestation, “Live and let live,” she repeats before walking out.

We finish the laundry in silence.


	2. New Scotland Yard

The case was good. It was interesting, it was complex, it was like Christmas.

I walk around the scene with the sides of my hands pressed to my mouth in thought, slowly categorizing data. It looks like a suicide by hanging, but there is no mechanism within range for the victim to have supported himself until he was ready to kick it away. So murder then. But the door and windows were all locked. So…what? How?

I sense more than see John come up to stand beside me when I finally come to a halt.

“You haven’t said a word for 15 minutes,” he says quietly.

I blindly reach out and grab his left wrist with my right hand. It’s something I started doing when he returned to Baker Street after his marriage with Mary fell apart. It comforts me to feel his warmth, his pulse thrumming strongly beneath my first two fingers. It reminds me that he’s real and it helps me think easier.

I pull him with me closer to the body, “How would you say he died?” I ask without looking from the corpse.

John takes a second to be sure, “There doesn’t appear to be any signs of a mechanism of injury except for the rope around his neck. I have to say it appears asphyxiation due to strangulation.”

I nod, “On that we agree then. How long ago?”

“It’s difficult to say for sure from here, but I’d say at least 48 hours.”

“That lines up with my assumption.”

“But how did he do it?”

I walk him around the body with me, closer than I dared to get before. Suddenly, my foot slips on something and only John’s hands under my arms keeps me from falling down.

“What was that? Are you okay?” He asks worriedly, helping to set me right again.

I let go of him to bend to the floor and investigate. There beneath the body is a pool of liquid that I missed before. Without thinking - and probably against the advice of everyone else in the room - I reach down with my bare hand and stick two fingers in it then bring them to my nose. It is colorless and odorless.

“John!” I exclaim excitedly as I stand again.

“Did you _really_ just touch an unknown substance beneath a dead body with your _bare hands_?” Is John’s exasperated response.

“It’s just water,” I shrug.

“Water?” Lestrade asks from the side of the room.

I instinctively latch on to John’s wrist again before moving towards the detective inspector, not even noticing the puzzled glances the other Yarders are giving each other. I typically avoid touching John in public as we agreed that it would cause people to talk. John hates when people talk about us and I hate to embarrass him.

A few steps towards the other side of the room John clears his throat and gently removes my hand from his wrist. I stop and give him a quizzical look, having forgotten I had ahold of him.

I take in his blush and immediately apologize, “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.”

He nods and gives me a small forgiving smile, “It’s alright.”

“Are you two freaks about done arguing about if you’re going to hold hands so we can continue with this case?” Sally asks loudly from her spot along the wall to our right.

John’s blush intensifies in embarrassment and my stomach drops to hear him called that word. _Freak_ is something I’ve been called all my life and, while I don’t enjoy it by any means, it’s something I’ve grown accustomed to hearing.

John, on the other hand, is the opposite of a freak. He is a doctor, he is a soldier, he is in many ways a hero. I shout all this and more at Sally before turning back to Lestrade.

“As for your victim,” I continue icily, “it was indeed an unaided suicide. He stood atop a block of ice in this intense heat wave we’ve been experiencing for the past week until it melted and he asphyxiated. An awfully slow way to go, I’d wager. Come on, John,” I finish before storming out of the building, trusting that John is following me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This case was based off an old mystery short from my childhood.


	3. Molly

**I need to examine the body again. -SH**

**What? Why? -GL**

**…I may have been wrong. -SH**

**Jesus, Sherlock, we’re wrapping up the paperwork as we speak. It fits, you weren’t wrong. -GL**

**I don’t think it could have been the boyfriend. -SH**

**You’re not seeing the body; you already solved it. Let it go. -GL**

**I must insist you halt your paperwork until I can thoroughly examine the body again. -SH**

**No. -GL**

**I don’t actually need your permission. I assume the body is with Molly whom I can easily convince to let me see it. If I discover who really did it you’ll just have to redo all of that paperwork you’re always complaining about. -SH**

**Bollocks. Just be quick about it, yeah? -GL**

**Certainly. -SH**

“John, we need to go to the morgue,” I announce to the man sitting in the chair across from me as I stand and place the phone in my pocket.

“Why? New case?” He asks as he closes his laptop and moves to grab his coat. It’s moving in to the crisper fall temperatures now.

“No, same case we just solved, but there’s a small chance we may possibly have botched it up,” I admit while buttoning my coat and not looking at him.

“ _You_ botched it up, you mean,” he smirks, “we both know I don’t really do anything.”

“When are you finally going to realize just how vital you are to the solving of cases? You’ve never thought yourself useful even though you have been from the start,” I say without thinking. At the shocked look on his face I storm out the door instead of dealing with it.

When we arrive at the morgue, Molly already has the body out on the table.

“Greg called and warned me you were coming to look at this one, so I pulled her out for you,” Molly smiles sweetly at me. She’s mostly gotten over her crush by now, but some days it comes back with an absolute vengeance. Looks like today is one of those days. Wonderful.

“Thank you, Molly,” I attempt to be civil because I know it makes John pleased with me. His encouraging smile lets me know I did the right thing and I grow a bit warm inside.

I remove my coat, placing it off to the side, and John follows suit. I walk around the body and take in the bruising that has materialized since my last viewing.

As John walks up beside me I nearly reach out and grab his wrist to help me think but remember that we’re in public, so simply ask “What do you make of these bruises?” instead.

“Well, the ones on the neck from before are the same, leading to strangulation by hand. The rest don’t really make sense. It’s like a puzzle that doesn’t quite fit with the picture we know.”

“Don’t think of the picture we know, just look at the evidence. Imagine it’s a new case we know nothing about,” I encourage him. The new bruising has confirmed my theory, but I haven’t figured out all of the pieces yet.

He’s silent for a few minutes as he tries to reason it out before sighing in aggravation, “I can’t just forget what we already decided. I don’t know, it doesn’t make sense.”

“I need to see something,” I say distractedly before pushing John away from the table, “Pretend to be the victim,” I order him.

“I’m sorry?” He looks offended.

“Lay on the ground so I can see it play out,” I explain impatiently before looking at his face. When I see the fight in his eyes and the one raised eyebrow I add, “Please,” for good measure.

“The things I do for you,” he mutters before laying on the cold linoleum floor.

“The things you do for _science_ ,” I amend.

“Should get a bloody medal for it.”

I hum before lowering myself to the floor and straddling his thighs, my hands moving to grasp his neck in a mimic of a choke but applying no pressure.

“What the hell, Sherlock?” He yells as his hands come up to grasp my forearms.

“Yes, that’s perfect; surely she tried to wrestle her assailant’s hands from her neck.”

“Every day is like a bloody trust exercise with you, you know that?” His sense of humor is starting to return.

I pause to look at him quizzically, “I don’t know what those are.”

“Of course you wouldn’t,” he sighs with a smile, “because people tend to do them at work retreats for real jobs.”

“I have a real job,” I say with offense.

He laughs, “Yeah, yeah. Just get on with it; this floor is freezing.”

I refocus, “The bruises on her neck and thighs match this position and fit with our original theory. But what about the bruising on her chest?” I ask while looking at John’s shirt, imagining the real scenario in my head, lost from the real world.

“Those bruises were a mix of pre and post-mortem,” I hear his voice supply, though I no longer imagine it’s him under me but the victim instead.

“And the bruises on her neck?”

“Post-mortem,” he says confidently.

My mind races and then the answer strikes, “She was crushed and _then_ strangled?”

“That’s what the bruising suggests, but how? Her boyfriend is as skinny as you are; he could never accomplish it.”

I smile triumphantly, “But her boyfriend’s best friend is heavy enough to,” I lay down fully on John to finish playing out the scene in my head, speaking into his ear, “they were having an affair. He was inebriated before they became intimate and ended up falling asleep on top of her. He was so heavy that she couldn’t escape and he crushed her. When he woke up,” I say as I lift myself onto my hands on either side of his head, “he was so ashamed that he proceeded to make it look like a choking,” I beam down at John, thrilled to have truly solved the case this time.

“Great,” he bites out and I notice that his face is very red.

“Are you alright? I wasn’t too heavy for you, was I? That could change the entire outcome,” I fire off rapidly.

“No, no, you’re fine. Just, are you done now? As I said: this floor is bloody freezing.”

I think he’s lying to me, but with so much new data flying around my head it’s hard to commit to taking the time to be sure. I sit up and then lift myself off of him completely.

As I stand I notice Molly off to the side with her mouth hanging open.

“Molly,” John makes just her name sound like an apology.

She closes her mouth and shakes her head while giving him a small sad smile.

I turn my attention to my phone without much of a care to whatever silent conversation they think they’re having right now; Lestrade has an innocent boyfriend to free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This case was based on an episode of CSI (original Las Vegas) except that it was a man crushed by a woman.


	4. John's Coworkers

There’s a lot of screaming. High pitched screaming, some tears, and an awful lot of cowering.

In hindsight, maybe bringing the sword had been a poor choice.

“Sir, please just put the weapon down. No one means you any harm here,” an unknown male voice breaks through the rest of the noise. I look over to see a doctor with his hands out in front of him in a non-threatening manner.

“What?” I ask, clearly confused, “Weapon?” I ask, forgetting for a moment that a sword is considered such.

“Is there someone we need to send help to?” He continues to ask.

“What?” I ask again, “I just need to see John Watson, is he in?”

“Why do you want to see him?” The doctor asks calmly, probably thinking I want to stick my sword through him.

“There’s a case and I need him,” I say tersely, “Now where is he?”

“Sherlock?” I hear John’s voice call from down a hall, not yet able to see him.

“John, I require your assistance and need you to leave work at once,” I announce to the now-silent room.

John turns the corner and stops dead in his tracks, his eyes growing wide, “Jesus! Whose blood is that?!”

I look down at myself and the other doctor’s question makes sense. He thought I had already stuck my sword through someone. I roll my eyes, “Another pig, I assure you. Our suspect is due to arrive one block from here in less than 10 minutes; we need to go.”

His face turns red, but I can’t tell if it’s from anger or embarrassment. Probably both.

“Sherlock, I can’t just _leave_.”

“If it’ll get him out of here, please just go,” the doctor who had been trying to talk me down from a mass murder interjects to John.

John huffs angrily as he disappears to grab his coat. The patients in the waiting room slowly move to settle in seats that are still far away from me. A few minutes later John storms past me and towards the door, causing me to follow at a jog to catch up.

“The suspect…” I start but he cuts me off.

“I don’t care!” He stops walking and turns to me, “You can’t do things like that!”

I stare at his angry face with hurt confusion, “I…I was nearby doing my experiment when the realization hit. You know I think better with you around. I didn’t mean to cause you trouble,” I say, sincerely anguished.

He sighs heavily and rubs his hand over his face before looking me in the eye again, “But you _did_ cause trouble,” he says more calmly than before.

I look at my bloody body, sword hanging loosely in my right hand, and realize how embarrassing it must have been for him to have me show up at his job like this, in front of people he knows and clients who may need to trust him yet, “I’m sorry, John,” I whisper.

“You just…you can’t…” he sighs again before breathing deep, “at least don’t come armed and bloody next time, yeah?” He asks with a quirk of his lips.

Mine twitch in response, “Of course.”


	5. John's Friends

When John informs me that a few of his Army friends are in town and want to meet up for a drink, I hear it as _‘Sherlock, you will have the flat to yourself tonight to do whatever brilliant experiment on body parts that doesn’t completely gross me out ever.’_ I do not hear it as _‘I’d like you to come with.’_

 

 

So when he’s pulling on his jacket and asks me if I’m ready, I don’t really know what to say.

“I’m sorry?” I settle on, lifting my head from my computer screen.

He laughs, “I _knew_ you weren’t listening. I asked you to join me to meet my friends tonight and you said that sounded great.”

I cock my head, “Either you were mentioning bringing me fresh body parts or you’re making that up, because I do not use the word ‘great’.”

“You did,” he’s still smiling.

“John, I really don’t think you want me to meet friends of yours, so thank you for the invitation but I’m saving both of us the awkwardness by staying here.”

“I told them you were coming already. They’re very excited to meet the famous detective,” he continues undeterred.

“They really aren’t.”

“They really are. Come on, we’re going to be late.”

And with a face like John Watson’s it’s a wonder he hasn’t gotten everything he’s ever desired in life. That nose alone could secure most anything.

15 minutes later we arrive at a generic pub - not too dingy but also not very nice - to find all of them waiting and halfway through their first round. I go to the bar to buy two beers, mostly to let John settle with his friends first, not because I really want a drink.

When I finally sit down the group indeed seems very excited to hear my story, and subsequently the story of everyone else in the bar.

“He’s cheating on his wife. She’s got three dogs and four vibrators. She’s a police officer. He’s an airline pilot. She’s actually 35 but pretending she's 28.” Easy things. Boring things. But by now they’re multiple rounds in as I’m still nursing my first beer.

“What about me?” One of the men - Frank - asks finally.

“Oh no, that’s really not a good idea,” I say with a shake of my head.

“Come on! I want to see how accurate you really are!” Frank slurs and the others back him up with a chorus of “Yeah!”s and “Come on!”s

John laughs, “You should really listen to Sherlock, boys; he is a genius, after all.”

“Then he should have no problem deducing the likes of us,” another - Marlon - laughs.

“Oh, I deduced all of you within the first three minutes of sitting down tonight. It wasn’t hard,” I sniff at the challenge.

“Go on, then, smart guy,” Marlon leans forward conspiratorially, “Let’s hear it.”

I look to John for guidance but he’s just giving me a proud, content smile which I take to mean that it’s okay to proceed. It doesn’t take them very long at all to reconsider their earlier vehemence.

I look at each man in turn around the table, it gets slowly quieter as I reach the end.

Frank: “You still suffer from PTSD because instead of letting your therapist do her job, you do _her_ on top of her desk each week.”

Bill: “Your son ran away from home because you found out that he was gay and he didn’t feel accepted. He stole something on his way out, probably an electronic device, and you’ve yet to find him.”

Carl: “You travel a lot for business and last time you were in France you married your girlfriend. Your wife in Wales really wouldn’t like to learn that.”

Mark: “You have a crush on your best friend’s wife. It’s very intense, but very unrequited. I suggest you let her go and move on to someone attainable.”

Marlon: “You also travel a lot for business. Last time you were in China you had the business owner you were meeting with schedule a meeting for you with a local 13-year-old boy so you could engage in…”

But here they finally cut me off. They all begin yelling at once about how I was a liar and had no idea what I was talking about and how could I think to make up such filthy lies? When I look to John on my right I see his mouth wide open in shock and his face is bright red from embarrassment. I sink back in my chair dejectedly, only being effected by his opinion. I can’t believe I went and embarrassed him in front of other people again!

“Stop!” John finally shouts above everyone else using his Captain voice. They all comply immediately, “You all _insisted_ that he deduce you. He told you that it wasn’t a good idea but you had to keep pushing him,” he seethes while glaring around the table.

“He’s lying!” Carl shouts while pointing at me.

“Sherlock _never_ lies when it comes to deductions!” John continues to rave, “He’s not a circus act or psychic, he just _observes_ things that we don’t. And if you’ve got a problem with that, it’s about time we left anyway.”

John eyes them all venomously and their looks in return all clearly say one thing: Time to go. Right.

“Come on, Sherlock,” John demands as he stands, mimicking my demeanor before leaving crime scenes, and then stalks towards the door.

I stand up awkwardly and don’t make eye contact with anyone at the silent table as I grab both of our jackets and follow him out the door. He’s standing on the curb facing the street with his hands in his jean pockets.

“Put your coat on,” I say gently as I hand it to him. He does as I say, “I’m sorry about that,” I continue.

“ _You’re_ sorry?” The anger in his eyes catches me off guard, “ _They_ should be sorry; they’re the ones who made you do it in the first place!”

“I should have known better than to engage them. I _did_ know better.”

“You’re not always the one to blame,” he says, and I can think of nothing to say to that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bill's deduction is based on a real life friend of mine.
> 
> Mark's deduction is based on Mark from Love Actually.
> 
> Marlon's deduction is based on a scene in Dogma. I think I got the age wrong, though.


	6. +1: Mycroft

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> POV change.

“You’re back in Baker Street,” he says.

“I’ve been back in Baker Street for seven months; what’s your point?” I ask coldly from my chair in another abandoned warehouse.

“You and Sherlock seem to be getting along swimmingly, as per usual,” he smirks knowingly. It’s a very annoying face, honestly.

“Is that supposed to be implying something?”

**Where are you? -SH**

“They say that people hear what they wish to. Would you _like_ me to be implying something?” He asks and I merely glare, “Should you answer that text?”

“It can wait a minute,” I say.

“I’ll ask you something that I asked during our first meeting: When can we expect the happy announcement?”

To stall, I type a reply to Sherlock: **With your dull annoying brother -JW**

“I told you when Irene left: I’m not sure that he can even have those types of feelings for anyone.”

“I assure you that he can.”

“Well, not for me. Not the way I feel for him, at any rate,” I say dejectedly.

Then there’s the sound of Sherlock’s text message alert from behind me, causing me to jump in my seat.

“You should come out now, brother mine,” Mycroft says to someone over my shoulder and I turn to try to glimpse Sherlock as my heart races thinking about what he just overheard.

Then all I hear is the sound of retreating feet and instinct takes over. I’m out of my chair and running after him before I truly realize what I’m doing. I catch up with him just outside of the warehouse, grabbing is right bicep to spin him around to face me.

“Let me go, John,” he demands.

“No, not this time,” I shake my head, “I let you run out of Battersea, but not this. I know you heard me and I’m sorry. I promise that my feelings won’t effect our friendship; I haven’t let them before,” I push through the embarrassment to reassure him, to keep him in my life any way I can.

“Before? How long…” he starts but can’t bring himself to finish.

I take a deep breath, “Always,” I admit, eyes falling to the ground, “then you jumped off that building and I couldn’t…I was scared, so I tried to superimpose my feelings on to Mary,” I laugh bitterly, “we see how _that_ worked out.”

We’re silent for minutes. I finally bring myself to brave looking at his face and it’s one I’ve seen only once before, when I asked him to be my Best Man at the wedding to replace him.

“Sherlock?” I gently push, trying to draw him out.

“You…have romantic feelings for me?” He asks slowly.

“Yes,” I admit again, a bit easier this time.

“But, you’re not embarrassed by me? By my antics or lack of social awareness?”

My face must clearly show my absolute disbelief at this lie he’s led himself to believe, “God no! I could never be embarrassed by you; you are one of the most brilliant people I’ve ever met and I’m proud to stand by you,” I say honestly.

It happens very fast, his hands cupping my face and his mouth forming to mine in a fierce kiss. When he pulls back I chase his lips and initiate a second kiss immediately. I pull back to examine his red face and see my feelings echoed back to me in his intensely ever-changing eyes. After a shared heartbeat, we both begin to laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love it if you took a second to let me know what you think, or any constructive criticism you may have for it/me!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> Follow me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/goddess-of-the-night04) for an easy way to keep up with any new stories from me or just to chat; I'd love hear from you :)


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